


draw me (like one of your french girls)

by starksnack



Series: Happy Steve Bingo 2019 [2]
Category: Marvel
Genre: 5+1 Things, Artist Steve Rogers, Couch Cuddles, Getting Together, Happy Steve Bingo, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sketches, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21677944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starksnack/pseuds/starksnack
Summary: 5 times Steve drew his best friend.+1 time he drew his boyfriend.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Happy Steve Bingo 2019 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562038
Comments: 5
Kudos: 208
Collections: Happy Steve Bingo 2019





	draw me (like one of your french girls)

**Author's Note:**

> *cartwheels in*  
> *finger guns*

**1**

Steve has his sketchbook open when Tony stumbles in making grabby hands at the percolator. There’s grease smudged on his cheek, and his hair is a wild halo of curls around his face, falling into clouded brown eyes.

“Good morning Tony,” Steve chirps cheerfully tapping his pencil against his lips. He knows he’s smearing graphite on his skin, but he’s too focused on coming up with a plan to maybe get some food into Tony. He had taken a grilled cheese down to the man last night for dinner, but his ideal was three meals a day for the reclusive genius.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, plodding to the counter and slumping against it. Tony stabs at the buttons, adjusting the settings for the perfect cup before closing his eyes to wait, fingers tapping impatiently on the granite.

While he isn’t paying attention, Steve puts his pencil to paper, sketching out the curve of Tony’s spine, the strong line of his jaw. He’s barefoot, toes poking out adorably from beneath the hem of his too-long sweatpants. Steve outlines them with care, smiling at the rough sketch.

Looking back up, he focuses on more of the details. Tony’s tank top shows off the strong curve of his biceps, flexing as he shifts his weight to lean more on the counter. Tony pencils them in, darkening the shadows and emphasizing the curve of his neck.

He finds himself paying special attention to the curve of Tony’s supple bottom, hoping the heat he feels in his cheeks isn’t a raging blush.

“What’cha drawing Cap?” Tony drawls from where he’s grabbing his cup, lifting it to his lips and chugging down half of it, steam still leaking from the sides.

“Nothin’ much,” Steve stutters, his Brooklyn accent coming out in his nerves. Snapping his sketchbook shut, Steve tucks it underneath his glass of orange juice to hopefully deter Tony from asking to take a peek. He’ll finish the drawing later after he feeds Tony and puts him to bed.

**2**

Steve has his sketchbook tucked under his arm when he goes to bring Tony mac and cheese the next day. The hot plate steaming in his hands as he rearranges his grip on it to type his passcode into the glass separating him from the deafening music playing in the workshop.

The doors slide open and Steve is hit with a wall of wailing guitars, Tony’s singing is muffled from somewhere under a Lamborgini, the clank of wrenches a steady beat to the percussion in the song.

“Heya, Tony!” Steve yells over the music.

There’s a dull, painful-sounding thunk before Tony is sliding out from under the car rubbing his head with a frown. “Don’t sneak up on a guy, Steve,” Tony chastises rising to his feet but shooting Steve a wobbly smile nonetheless. Dropping his hand, he shoots Steve a petulant look. “I’m pretty sure you just took ten years off my life.”

Steve sets the plate on a nearby workshop beside some very detailed blueprints. Steve gets distracted looking at them looking at the artistic skill behind the designs. He’s never thought about Tony like that, as an artist, which he clearly is in his own right. Steve sifts through the papers looking at models of the armour with notes scribbled in the margins for repairs.

“Thanks for the food,” Tony says, chomping into the sandwich before groaning in satisfaction. He swallows, looking up from the bread and gooey cheese to meet Steve’s gaze before dropping to his sketchbook with a cocked eyebrow. “You brought your friend.”

“This?” Steve asks pointing to the book. Tony nods. “Yeah.” Steve scratches the back of his neck, “Is it okay if I sit and sketch here?” 

Tony shrugs, taking another obscenely large bite of his sandwich. “Sure yeah. You wanna draw wrenches and screws, you’re welcome to.”

Grinning, Steve plops down on his workbench, flipping to a new page and smoothing his hand down it. He looks up to where Tony has holograms pulled up of his suit’s schematics looking at energy inputs and outputs to minimize strain on the arc reactor. He has a quarter of the sandwich stuffed into his mouth to free up his hands as he splays his hands out over the glass of his keyboard.

Setting his pencil to paper, Steve starts on Tony’s face, focusing on the detail of his eyes and the thoughtful wrinkle in his brow. He spends a lot of time drawing Tony’s hair and the way it curls over his forehead and his small ears. In the drawing, his hands are splayed out across the hologram, arms strong and flexed. His cheeks are full of sandwich and Steve feels a swell of pride at providing for him.

Steve is intently drawing the ‘V’ of Tony’s strong thighs straddling the workbench when a loud beep beside him startles him into drawing a stray line down the page. He’s not ashamed to say that he lets out a startled yelp.

It’s only Dum-E, beeping curiously and snapping his claw at Steve’s sketchbook in interest.

“Karma is a bitch,” Tony mumbles from where he’s looking at Steve amusedly over a hologram of Steve’s shield laid over the arc reactor.

Steve sighs, patting Dum-E support strut. “You want a drawing too?”

Dum-E lets out an excited beep wiggling much like an excited puppy. He rolls back and forth, almost going right over Steve’s foot. “I need some space though.” Steve rips a couple of pages from the back of his sketchbook, balling them up and throwing them across the room.

“Are you playing fetch with him?” Tony asks over Dum-E’s excited beeping as he rolls over to the ball of paper.

Steve nods, quickly sketching out a cartoon-y picture of Tony and Steve standing on either side of Dum-E, all wearing Dunce caps. When the bot comes back with the paper ball, Steve trades him for the drawing watching him spin a circle before beeping over to where Tony is, showing him the drawing.

Tony’s expression is curious as he looks at the drawing and then up at Steve, his mouth curving into an adorable smile that makes Steve’s chest warm. He can’t help the excitement as Tony gets a piece of tape to stick it to the wall above Dum-E’s charging station.

**3**

Steve can not for the life of him pay attention to whatever is coming out of Fury’s mouth during debriefing. Maybe it’s because Tony has his helmet off, having produced a mini tool-kit out of thin air to repair the gauntlet. Steve had noticed him having trouble with flight stabilization during the battle and makes a note to check in with Tony about it after.

The intermittent clink of metal on metal is a comfort to Steve, having spent so many days slumped on the couch in Tony’s workshop that had magically appeared after his first day there. He doesn’t know exactly what Tony’s tinkering with, but he has a vague idea based on the babble he’s been privy to through many days spent hanging out with the genius.

Tony’s mouth is screwed up in a concentrated line, dark brows furrowed as he picks at a loose wire. Stuffing the handle of the screwdriver in his mouth, Tony digs through his toolkit for a pair of pliers twisting and grabbing with steady hands as he pulls out a bit of shrapnel. He drops the pliers on the table with a clatter, going back to the screwdriver to poke at the innards of the suit.

Steve’s fingers itch to draw him and he finds himself outlining Tony’s form on the report papers in front of him. Sure they’re important, but Steve has eidetic memory and doesn’t really need them anyway.

Making sure Fury is engrossed in battle footage and not paying attention to him and his team, he picks up a pen off the table, clicking it open. The sound is loud in the silence at the table, but Fury doesn’t look up from where he’s pulling up shaky cell phone footage off Twitter for them to watch.

Steve starts off with Tony’s hunched figure, the lines of his collarbones and the soft slope of his nose. His pen moves over the paper with the ease of familiarity, and Steve has the sketchbook to prove how much he has gotten to know his subject. Carefully, Steve draws in the delicate lines of Tony’s inky long lashes, hating the bags under Tony’s eyes as he draws the dip of them under Tony’s focused gaze.

Natasha lets out an audible exhale, only Steve can hear because of his augmented hearing and he turns to where she’s sitting beside him with her head cradled in her palm. Her glittering green eyes are on his drawing before they flick up to meet his with a knowing smirk. She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and Steve resists the urge to scoff for fear of accidentally drawing Tony’s attention to his paper.

Ignoring her, Steve tilts his shoulders to shield his drawing from her view, continuing with Tony’s dark curls, flattened by his helmet and matted to his hair with sweat. Steve kind of wants to bury his nose in the gentle curve of Tony’s neck. Inhale the smell of battle and whiskey and the underlying smell of Tony that has become a comfort to Steve somewhere along the way.

“Rogers,” Fury barks from the front of the room, drawing his attention away from pretty light of Tony’s arc reactor.

“Yes, sir?” Steve asks, carefully keeping the annoyance out of his voice. He wants to be upset at being interrupted, but it was rude of him to be distracted during team briefing. It’s time to step into his role of team leader and actually pay attention to Fury’s feedback so he can structure team training around the improvements. Steve sighs, covering his drawing with a team skill assessment sheet.

Fury rolls his eyes, before saying “Quit doodling,” and continuing with his presentation.

**4**

Somehow, Steve manages to convince Tony to come out of the workshop for movie night.

They’re watching Die Hard which Clint says is his favourite Christmas movie. Steve had looked at the movie poster on the screen as they waited for Thor to make popcorn. It didn’t really look Christmassy, but Steve figured he was probably just missing something.

Coming up from the workshop, Tony slumps onto the couch beside him, swinging his feet up beside him, Tony leans against Steve without a word, his mouth opening in an adorable yawn. Steve is careful to stay perfectly still, unwilling to move and risk Tony moving away. 

Steve fishes his sketchbook out from between the couch cushions halfway through the movie. It’s not that he’s bored with the film, in fact, he thinks it’s a pretty good movie. He’s just more interested in Tony who’s fallen asleep against him, his body warm as he breathes softly into Steve’s neck.

Seeing them, Bruce smiles, throwing a soft grey fluffy blanket over them. Steve shoots him a grateful smile, rearranging the blanket around Tony’s shoulders so that he’s swaddled in the warm fabric. Carefully, he brushes Tony’s hair out of his face before flipping open his sketchbook and setting his pencil to paper.

He starts with the curve of his jaw and then the dip of his nose peeking out over the blanket. Grinning, Steve adds in the couch, and then Tony’s form swaddled in the blanket. His fluff of curls sticking out of the top of the blanket are soft against Steve’s neck.

“Have you told him how you feel?” Clint asks from where he’s perched on the couch beside Natasha, stuffing his face of popcorn.

Steve frowns, his brows furrowing as his pencil pauses on the page. “What do you mean?”

“Tony, you obviously have a big crush on him. Have you told him?”

“No.”

Rolling his eyes, Clint sighs, looking up at the ceiling like he’s praying. “Just tell him you love him already and put us out of your misery.”

Blushing fiercely, Steve ignores him, pretending to be super invested in the credits rolling on the screen.

Later that night, when Steve tucks Tony into his bed, smoothing the blankets over his form and fluffing the pillows behind his head, he allows himself to think about what it would be like to fall asleep next to him. To love Tony and to be loved back.

It’s a nice thought. If only it were real.

**5**

They’re at a press conference and Steve is bored out of his mind. Tony is sitting beside him, their legs pressed together underneath the cramped table and Steve can feel Tony’s leg bouncing up and down in nervousness.

It’s not going their way. The press is yelling across the room as Tony tries to get them in some semblance of order, speaking into the mic in a calm voice despite the anxiety Steve can see in his eyes. Despite how irritated and uncomfortable Tony is, he keeps a smile on his face, however plastic Steve recognizes it is.

There’s a stack of sticky notes on the table that Clint is making paper airplanes out of and Steve steals a couple grabbing a pen.

Steve was going to draw flowers, honest. Maybe a couple of trees, some birds, clouds. A real Van Gogh landscape or a fairy tale land without pollution. He really wasn’t going to draw Tony, but when he looks up from his drawing and back down, the beginning of Tony’s profile is there on the yellow paper.

Tony’s eyes are glinting with intelligence in the picture, the way that he looks in the lab when he’s making a breakthrough and nothing like how his eyes are dead and empty right now. Those full lips framed by an eccentric beard are ones that Steve would recognize anywhere. Ones that he can now admit that he kind of wants to kiss.

“Oh yeah?”

Tony’s indignant voice has Steve’s head shooting up because he recognizes the tone. Tony is close to snapping and losing his composure, something that will lead to a spectacular spread of him on the tabloids tomorrow. Steve turns his head to check in with his best friend, concern pulling his brows together only to be met with a pair of lips against his, startling him out of his skin.

He recovers quickly, his hand moving up to gently cup the back of Tony’s head as his eyes slip shut, his body humming in pleasure. Fireworks explode behind his eyelids as he revels in the feeling of Tony’s soft lips against his, tasting his coconut chapstick with the lingering smell of motor oil filling his nose as he breathes Tony in. Steve doesn’t want it to end, one moment stretching into a thousand as his lips move against Tony’s tongue darting out to lick across his lower lip in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Tony hums in denial, and Steve resists the urge to whine against him.

For all the time Steve thinks it took, the kiss was probably only a couple of seconds long max. Tony is the one to pull away first, his expression guarded as he turns to look back at the now-silent audience.

Steve guesses that’s one way to shut the press up. He doesn’t even care if the kiss means nothing to Tony, just happy to have gotten the opportunity to kiss him. His cheeks burn as he looks back down at his drawing, setting his pen to paper again as if he hadn’t just kissed Tony Stark in the middle of the press conference. Pepper is going to murder him with her heels.

“Next question?”

**+1**

“Draw me like one of your French girls.”

Steve looks up from where he had been slouched against the pillows, basking in the afterglow of a night well spent as the early rays of sunlight spill through the curtains to warm their bed. Steve’s clothes are strewn across the floor and he’s pretty sure his boxers are dangling from the lamp by Tony’s bedside. He doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed though because he’s had such a good night.

They’ve been together for a couple of months, but this is the first time they’ve actually been intimate in this way and Steve feels like he’s on top of the world. Steve tries to reign in his thoughts, trying to remember what they’re talking about. Drawing?

“I beg your pardon?” Steve asks, sure he’d heard wrong because there is no way Tony had just said that. He shifts in the silk sheets to give Tony his full attention, resisting the urge to just pull his boyfriend toward him. It still feels novel to call him that but Steve loves the exciting thrill it sends through him.

Lying down sideways on the bed, his naked body on display, Tony sets his head in his palm, looking up at Steve through long, inky lashes. “I know you understood that reference,” Tony smirks, and Steve does because Tony had made him watch Titanic, telling him he’d never let go. “Paint is too messy. So draw me,” Tony gestures down at himself, and Steve tries and fails to keep his eyes on Tony’s face. “like one of your French girls.”

Steve rolls his eyes, bending over to dig out his sketchbook from under the bed. Tony whistles at his bare ass, making Steve’s cheeks burn as he rolls his eyes, settling back down and flipping his book open. He’s on the last page, his whole sketchbook filled mostly with drawings of his best friend turned boyfriend. There are a couple of the whole team and a few of the bots but the rest are all Tony in all of his unapologetic journey.

Lining Tony’s form across the paper, Steve draws his chest, the scars around the arc reactor and the beautiful curve of his shoulders. Leaning over, he kisses the metal casing of the reactor, his fingers skimming across Tony’s chest because he can, and loving the shiver he gets in response.

Turning back to his paper, Steve draws the dip of Tony’s waist swelling into his lips. He ghosts over the arousal between Tony’s legs, feeling his skin grow hot as he captures it on paper forever. He forces himself to move on to Tony’s legs, drawing the jut of his ankles followed by the tiny bumps of his feet tucked into the blankets.

Steve leaves Tony’s face for last, which wasn’t the best idea because now he’s racing his own arousal as he meets Tony’s sultry gaze, desire swirling in his hips as his pencil moves faster over the paper. He draws Tony’s messy bedhead and his long lashes, scrawling the small smirk on his lips as a smile takes over his face.

Tony shifts his hips, drawing Steve’s attention back down and he can feel his cheeks burning.

Abandoning his sketchbook, he grabs Tony, pulling him into his embrace and peppering kisses down his neck. He’ll finish the drawing later when he isn’t sharing a bed with the love of his life...He has all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on [tumblr](https://starksnack.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/starksnack/).


End file.
